42. April
Chapter 42
April
J ames returned home from visiting his parents yesterday afternoon, and he told them everything about us. My heart raced with nerves until he assured me they are happy for us. The relief that washed over me was indescribable. They’ve always been so kind and supportive, welcoming me into their family with open arms when I was with Lucas.
Despite her own internal struggles, Caroline always goes the extra mile. She has a special motherly way of making the people around her feel heard and loved. She’s a beautiful soul, with a heart so tender, and knowing she’s given us her blessing is elating. They’ll be at the audition next week, which will be the first time I’ve seen them since the engagement party. Standing by them while I cheer James on will be quite the juxtaposition, but I’m excited to see them again.
I step through James’s flat, wearing nothing but his T-shirt. My hair is tied in a messy topknot, and a dull, delicious ache throbs between my thighs from last night. I peer through the doorway to his kitchen and watch as he cracks two eggs into a bowl. He’s shirtless, wearing only grey tracksuit bottoms, and I salivate as I study the muscles in his back working while he whisks. He flings a tea towel over his shoulder before seasoning the egg mixture with salt and pepper. I smile to myself as the smell of bacon sizzling and coffee brewing fills the flat.
I bypass the kitchen, to his bookshelf and begin thumbing through the titles—Dante, Dickens, Freud, and de Beauvoir. Classics spanning literature to philosophy are arranged neatly by genre. This, right here, is him. The softness beneath the hard exterior.
“Coffee?” he says, and I jump, whirling around to face him.
“You gave me a fright,” I say, holding my hand over my heart, and he smirks. Extending his arm towards me, I accept the mug and bring it to my lips. “Mmm,” I moan. “You make the best coffee.”
“Breakfast’s ready too. You need to eat. Your stomach has been grumbling for the last hour.” He chuckles. I follow him to the small table nestled against the kitchen wall. Setting my mug down, I pull out a chair and settle in. He grabs two plates from the counter, placing one for each of us before taking a seat. I sneak a perve, catching a glimpse of his abs tightening as he scoots his chair forward and reaches for his cutlery. I almost drool on the table.
A thick slice of buttered sourdough is topped with creamy scrambled eggs, crispy rashers of bacon, sautéed mushrooms, wilted spinach, and a plump pork sausage.
“Thank you. This looks incredible,” I say, picking up my knife and fork to dig in.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he replies, giving me a soft smile as he slices into his bacon. The sound of utensils hitting porcelain fills the air as we eat.
“So,” I manage around a bite of bread, “have you read all those books on your shelf?”
He swallows a large mouthful. “Most of them, yes.”
“I didn’t really take you for the philosophy type.”
He smirks. “Then I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
Cheeky.
“Touché,” I say, pointing at him with my knife. “When did you start reading philosophy?” I ask.
“When I was eighteen, one of my old school friends from Toton gave me a book by Jean-Paul Sartre called The Age of Reason . I picked it up one day when I was bored after moving to London. Since then, I’ve just accumulated more. I love it.”
I raise my eyebrows, a smile tugging at my lips. Music and philosophy—this man just keeps impressing me. “A little different from my romance novels,” I tease.
He chuckles. “Just a little. But if you ever asked me to read one, I would. For you.”
Happiness tickles my heart, and I swear it doubles in size.
A phone notification chimes, and James ignores it, focusing on his meal.
Ping. Another notification. He glances at his phone briefly but continues eating. When his phone chimes again, I lock up. My gaze shifts nervously between my plate and his phone on the counter before flicking to James, and I catch him watching me curiously, his brows pressed together in concern before he quickly smooths his expression.
“It’ll be one of the guys,” he says, and I nod, cutting into my toast, pushing the sinking feeling in my gut aside.
After finishing our meal, we get dressed and head out to spend a lovely morning strolling through Hyde Park. We sip our takeaway coffee as we wander, pausing to watch the birds glide across the pond. We spot an empty park bench and take a seat, nestling in to watch the world go by. Children dance and play on the grass. Families fly kites that dip and flutter in the breeze, while packs of runners dash by in a blur, their loud footfalls slapping against the pavement. James drapes an arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his side. I lean my head against him and close my eyes. These are the precious moments I love sharing with him. This city is so busy, so alive , but with him, I feel calm. He wraps both arms around me and the bustling city noise fades into the background.
I trust James. Really, I do. But, for whatever reason, hearing his phone ping this morning set me on edge, triggering a surge of panic. That tight, squeezing sensation that grips my lungs and lights a fire in my chest. When it sets in, it’s hard to focus or catch my breath. It’s the second time I’ve felt this way since finding Lucas’s secret persona, and to be honest, it scares me. I don’t want it to get to me, because I know, deep down, that James would never act with self-serving intentions. I try to push the thoughts and feelings aside to enjoy the rest of the afternoon with James. I can’t let my fears intrude on my happiness. He’s been nothing short of perfect.
James places his hand under my chin tenderly, tipping my head back. He regards me, and I shoot him a small smile.
“I can practically hear you thinking, gorgeous. What’s on your mind?” he asks as he scans my face.
I close my eyes, mulling over my thoughts to find the right words without making me sound psychotic. I don’t want to be the woman with trust issues. The woman who feels like she needs to check her partner’s phone or worry about what he’s up to. I never used to be that person.
I worry my lip in contemplation. His hand squeezes my shoulder affectionately before he pulls back, a flicker of concern crossing his face.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks.
I think back to the conversation we had after I met with Lucas. This only works if we communicate . “You’re going to think I’m crazy.” I huff out a laugh. “I felt this wave of anxiety when your phone kept going off this morning. I don’t even know why … my mind just flashed back to when I found Lucas’s phone, and …” I trail off, letting the words hang in the air.
James’s eyes fill with understanding, and he strokes my jaw softly. “April, you’re not crazy. What you went through with Lucas … I get why that would stay with you.” He pauses, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “But I need you to know that I will never hide anything from you. If there’s ever something that makes you feel uneasy, just tell me.” He holds my gaze. “I want us to have complete trust. You don’t have to worry about anything like that with me. I promise.”
A small, grateful smile lifts my lips.
I reach up, placing my hand over his and lean into his touch. “Thank you,” I murmur. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I really do trust you. It’s just … sometimes old fears sneak up on me.”
“I get it,” he says. “After how badly he hurt you, it’s only natural. Thank you for telling me.” He kisses me. “And if those fears ever come up again, just talk to me, okay? I’d rather know what’s on your mind than have you be alone and in pain.”
I give his hand a light squeeze. “Thank you.”
I’m relaxing on the sofa after work, an exfoliating mask working it’s magic to brighten my skin as I watch my show and sip on a glass of Peter’s homemade Rioja. Basil is curled up beside me, purring away happily. I’m running my fingers through his lush coat when my phone on the sofa arm lights up with a message. I reach over and swipe the screen to read James’s text.
It’s a mixture of random words and numbers that I can’t make sense of. My brows furrow in confusion as I try to decipher the message. I type out a reply.
Me : What’s this?
The three little dots appear before he shoots through a response.
James: It’s all my passwords.
My breath catches.
Me: Why are you sending me all your passwords?
James : I never want you to feel like I’m hiding anything from you. I’m sorry someone betrayed your trust before. Having yours means everything to me. I promise, I’ll work every day to prove I’m worthy of it.
My eyes shimmer with unshed tears as I read his message over and over. My lip trembles as I press the call button, needing to hear him. His phone rings twice before his smooth voice fills the line.
“Hey, April.”
“Hey, James,” I whisper back, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey,” he soothes. “You have to stop apologising. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
A wave of humiliation crashes over me, and I pull in a shaky breath. “I feel so embarrassed. You shouldn’t have to give me your passwords.”
“April, I want to give you everything, because it’s yours by choice. My thoughts, my heart, every piece of me—they belong to you. Anything you want, consider it yours.”
A broken sound escapes me, and he’s quick to respond. “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”
I drop my hand to my lap and fidget nervously with the faux fur blanket. “Because I really like you.”
He chuckles, “I really like you too. I’ll let you get back to your night. I’m just playing around with some songs, but I’ll see you before I leave for the audition tomorrow, yeah?”
“Absolutely. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, gorgeous.”
“’Night, James.”
I hang up the phone and release a little sob, pulling Basil in close.
He’s starting to show me what it truly means to be cared for—the way my parents cared for each other.
He’s shown me that it’s not only in the words, but the little things. It’s in the way he brings me coffee in bed every morning. It’s in the way he only plays my favourite songs in the car, instead of his own. It’s in the way he washes my hair for me when I’m tired and heats my wheat bag when I’m cold.
James has accepted me despite knowing that his brother and I share a past. A past that in ways, I’m still recovering from. Even so, he’s taken the time to know me, let his feelings for me grow, and shown just how much he wants this—wants us, fully aware that his brother will always be part of our lives.
And still , he chose me.
I know there are a lot of uncertainties in this life, but it brings me a little comfort knowing that I’m certain about him .